


A Meeting of Crows

by heatherputsonairs



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Defense Squad, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, background Male Hawke/Anders, background Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris, background Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris/Anders, but not really an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherputsonairs/pseuds/heatherputsonairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is forced to face a part of his past that he thought he'd forgotten, and maybe learn something important along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meeting of Crows

**Author's Note:**

> a few things about this story:  
> 1\. during Awakening, Anders was in a casual relantionship with Zevran and Tabris  
> 2\. Tabris saved Amaranthine, but nobody died at Vigil's Keep  
> 3\. Tabris became the warden and the hero of fereldan, but the group comes across Elissa Cousland in lothering asking to come along for the sake of killing rendon Howe so Tabris lets her come along. She never becomes a warden but she does marry Alistair and becomes queen   
> 4\. Anders' canon merging with Justice is shit so I made my own: Rolan had already sent for back up in capturing Anders before he merged with Justice; Justice told Anders about the plan, and tried to help him escape, but Rolan cornered them before they could; up against an entire group of Templars, Anders tells Justice to merge with him, and kills the Templars in self-defense. Knowing this isn't really necessary for understanding this particular story, but...I will not have any negativity towards Anders in my house  
> 5\. there are background relationships, but romance isn't the focus here, the focus is Zevran and Anders' friendship and Anders' character development  
> 6\. the title is ???? sorry
> 
> maybe one day i'll write all the aus and headcanons i have for this, but. have this instead

Anders, frankly, was appalled that Hawke willingly decided to take up a retrieval mission of a dangerous assassin. Everyone seemed to think that Hawke was some kind of miracle worker who could solve everybody’s problems even under the most ridiculous circumstances, and Anders was discouraged to discover that this widely believed idea carried all the way to Antiva. 

Anders really wished he had turned it down. If the Antivans couldn’t capture their own criminals, it was their problem, not Hawke’s. Of course, Hawke accepted easily enough. A bleeding heart at his core, Hawke would never reject a request for help, no matter how foreign it might be. Plus, the coin he had been promised once he delivered probably sweetened the deal a little. 

Him, Hawke, Isabela and Fenris made their way to the Dalish camp up on Sundermount. Upon asking a Dalish woman about the assassin, Hawke was informed that said assassin was hiding in the caves up the path, and had told the clan not to lie for him lest they be caught up in the hunt. Immediately, Anders was suspicious. If this criminal was as strong and ruthless as Nuncio had made him out to be, he should’ve had no problem sacrificing the clan’s safety for his survival. Or he simply would’ve taken a hostage, threatening to eliminate the entire clan if they didn’t help him. That’s what assassins did, right? It was plain folly to assume that the Dalish elves would be accommodating of an assassin, simply because he was an elf, especially one that both foreign and non-Dalish.

Either the assassin was not nearly as brutally dangerous as Nuncio claimed, or the clan was leading them into an ambush. Anders seriously doubted the latter was true, since Hawke had talked his way out of letting them kill Merrill after the incident with their Keeper. They held Hawke in high esteem; Anders didn’t think they’d do such a thing. 

He said as much to Hawke, who agreed with him. It was odd for an assassin to be so compassionate towards a strange clan of elves; he must’ve been expecting Nuncio to send more hunters after him if he gave the elves instructions on what to say if any of them came knocking. This entire situation was turning out to be much worse than Anders originally thought. He sincerely hoped that his prediction was right and the assassin turned out to be a common cut purse or something and Nuncio had only talked him up to convince Hawke to do his work for him. 

They meandered through the complex labyrinth of caves, fighting off several hordes of spiders on the way. All of them had been on enough excursions with Hawke to become adept at fighting spiders, so Anders didn’t need to heal any poisonous bites once they reached a large opening in the cave. 

Creeping up from the shadows was a creature much worse than a spider, and something Anders was positive they had already killed. 

The varterral was just as big and menacing as Anders remembered, and it attacked them immediately. Anders wasted no time in casting barriers and rejuvenation spells on all of his companions before encasing himself in rock armor. 

The strategy for the fight was essentially the same: chip away at its legs while avoiding its stinging venom and massive claws. Despite being completely blind, the varterral was extraordinarily quick, so Anders’ entire focus was on making sure it didn’t sneak up on anyone. He didn’t notice the fifth fighter until the varterral had crumbled dead to the ground and an elven man started to speak to them. 

Anders felt the breath leave his lungs in one violent push at the sight of Zevran. The flush of conflicting emotions almost made him dizzy, but he noticed the surprised spark of recognition cross Zevran’s face as their eyes met. It was an uncharacteristically naked emotion for Zevran, and he quickly schooled it into something more acceptable, which was, by default, flirtatious. 

“Anders, my, you are just as devilishly attractive as I remember,” he said flippantly. Hawke raised an eyebrow at him, but Anders was not as skilled at deceit at Zevran was, so he was still dumbly staring at him. 

Finally, when the entire group had turned their curious eyes on him, Anders forced himself to look natural. 

“Um, yes, well…I’m glad your eyesight hasn’t failed after all these years.” Zevran laughed, but there was clearly still an underlying layer of tension. Zevran gave him a very meaningful look before turning his attention back on Hawke.

“How do you two know each other?” Hawke asked, guarded caution clear in his voice.

“How does anyone know Zevran?” Isabela added, waggling her eyebrows at Zevran. Ah yes, Anders had almost forgotten that the Warden had also slept with her while supposedly saving Fereldan from the Blight. Tabris was such a sweet, mild-mannered person, it was jarring to learn about his nonchalance when it came to sex. 

Thinking about Tabris sent an icy stab of regret straight through Anders’ heart. 

“Our Warden does have quite the sense of adventure, doesn’t he?” Zevran said, his gaze still locked on Anders. Hawke asked him a few more perfunctory questions, the content of which Anders barely heard. He often dreamt about Tabris, vague, dark dreams that he usually attributed to the taint upon waking, but he hadn’t faced his memory this directly in years. He should’ve put the pieces together sooner; an Antivan assassin besting dozens of seasoned hunters, placing the safety of those sheltering him before his own? 

It was just that Anders had assumed Zevran had gone with Tabris on whatever quest he had undertaken. The two were virtually inseparable, and Zevran had also disappeared off the map at about the same time Tabris did. If he were here now, it was because the Crows had gotten too close and Zevran was trying to throw them off Tabris’ trail. Last time Anders heard, the famous Zevran Arainai had killed four different Guild Masters and was the most wanted criminal in all of Antiva. Whatever mission the Hero of Fereldan went on, it was very secretive and couldn’t risk getting publicity through Zevran’s infamy. 

After learning the full story, Hawke elected to let Zevran go. Anders wasn’t sure if it was because Hawke genuinely liked and trusted Zevran (as much as you could trust an assassin), or if he was just releasing him for Anders’ benefit. Anders was shit at hiding his emotions, and Hawke was too perceptive for his own good. He must’ve noticed something between the two of them, and had decided it was important enough to give Zevran the benefit of the doubt. 

Zevran warned them that Nuncio would demand blood for Hawke’s failure, and volunteered to guide them to their camp and help Hawke dispose of them. It wasn’t terribly uncommon for Zevran to offer help to a stranger, but Anders suspected he was only tagging along to get a moment alone together. That thought terrified Anders; he hadn’t thought about Zevran or Tabris in so long, he wasn’t sure if he could face this unfinished part of his past just yet. 

\--

While Hawke and the others wandered around the campsite, collecting loot from the bodies of the assassins, Zevran gave Anders a very significant look that ordered him to come to him and speak privately. Anders already had an idea of what Zevran wanted to say to him, and his heart sank with every footstep on the sandy beach away from his party and towards a small rocky outcropping where they wouldn’t hear him. For a split second, Anders thought Zevran was leading him away to kill him, but he immediately crushed that thought with shame; Zevran might have been a professional assassin that was eluding the entirety of the Antivan Crows, but he wasn’t malicious and he wasn’t the type for revenge. 

Zevran turned to him, and his expression was merciless, but his eyes were soft. Before he even said anything he gathered Anders into his arms and tightly embraced him. Anders returned it gladly, almost desperately. Zevran still smelled like antique Antivan leather and vintage brandy, but underneath Anders could smell the familiar scent of living and sleeping outdoors. His hair was meticulously styled, but it had gotten long, and there was a sunken weariness in his cheeks that spoke of meals hard won but few and far in-between. Anders knew too well what it was like to make your home outside, to learn to hide and blend in with the scenery when those who chased you would not hesitate to kill you. Zevran was running from the Guild, yes, but he was also running from the Blight, even though he had never taken the drink. When you loved a Grey Warden, you became tainted just the same. 

“It’s good to see you again, amico,” Zevran said when he released Anders. “If you told me six years ago that you would be cavorting around with the Champion of Kirkwall I’d have laughed right in your face.” 

“So would I,” Anders replied wryly. “I almost attacked him our first meeting, but he was just a Fereldan refugee then.” 

Zevran shook his head fondly. The tale of the Champion had reached far, Anders thought. He remembered the first time he’d seen somebody talk about Hawke outside of Kirkwall; Varric had displayed a letter from a contact in Orzammar excitedly asking if he really knew the Champion personally. Anders knew that Hawke’s fame was largely Varric’s doing; he told his exaggerated tale to everyone who would listen, and encouraged them to tell their friends as well, but it was still quite surreal to think that the man who spent two hours in a lavender-scented bath last week was also widely known even in the underground kingdom of Orzammar as Kirkwall’s savior.

“Is this why you haven’t bothered to send a letter?” Zevran asked, and although the question was phrased lightly, Anders could feel the cold accusation. He looked away. 

“I couldn’t risk the templars finding me,” he answered, though the excuse was flimsy and Zevran knew it. 

“You know Tab would’ve sided with you,” Zevran said, as Anders had predicted. “You left behind a pile of Templar bodies, and Tab had to negotiate and apologize to the Chantry for months before they let him off the hook, but if you had even bothered to contact him, he would’ve helped you.” 

“You don’t know what it was like after he left!” Anders snarled suddenly, anger and anguish both mixing poisonously in his heart. He didn’t want to feel regret for deserting the Grey Wardens, and he knew if he told Tabris about it, he would’ve been pressured to stay. Tabris had saved him from a hanging, or more likely Tranquility, and Anders hadn’t even managed to stay a couple months before he fled. He left behind numerous friends, obligations he thought he understood, for a life of suffering and hopelessness in the sewers of the City of Chains. When he found Hawke, he thought he could finally leave some of those memories behind, the intellectual discussions with Sigrun, the friendly arguments with Nathaniel, the drinking competitions with Oghren…Anders was more than accustomed to leaving behind a life to start a new one, but he never thought it’d be so hard to say goodbye to the Hero of Fereldan. 

So he didn’t. 

“As soon as he left, the Chantry sent a Templar to guard me,” Anders continued, seething with anger and regret that wasn’t all his own. “Day and night he followed me, always waiting for me to slip up so he could drag me back to the Circle.” 

Zevran narrowed his eyes, a crease of concentration crossed his eyebrows. He didn’t know this, Anders realized with shock. If Zevran had no idea about Rolan, maybe Tabris was never informed either. It would be just like the Chantry to blame those Templar deaths on him entirely, a stupid blood mage who snapped and ran away, proof that the Grey Wardens shouldn’t recruit mages at all. 

Anders swallowed audibly, and said in a small voice:

“They never told him that, did they?” 

Zevran swore in Antivan, then spit derisively onto the sandy ground. 

“Tabris never would’ve allowed that,” he hissed venomously. 

“Tabris wasn’t there.” Anders felt most of his rage leave just as quickly as it had come. Zevran was implying that Tabris would’ve backed him up even if there had been no Rolan; if Anders had just killed those Templars for the hell of it and then ran to escape punishment. Tabris was his friend, and occasional lover, but Anders never thought he’d remain so loyal to him. He felt Justice stir and rumble inside him, a low moan of grief for the Hero that he’d left behind too. 

“Why didn’t you call for him?” Zevran asked. “He had only been gone a while. You should’ve sent a letter to me, to Isabela, or fuck you could’ve contacted Alistair! He and Elissa are the only other ones who knew where we were going.” 

“Oh yes, an apostate Warden abomination would have no trouble at all walking right up to the King to ask where the Hero of Fereldan went on a classified mission!” 

Anders waited for Zevran to shoot back a proportionately lethal and sarcastic remark, but Zevran just stared at him with a mixture of amazement and trepidation. 

“Abomination?” He said finally, with a carefully neutral tone. 

Fuck. 

“Um.” Anders should’ve kept his damn mouth shut, but he never followed that advice before, why start now? He completely forgot that nobody in the Wardens would’ve known what happened to Justice after Tabris left; all they discovered was Kristoff’s body. 

“You’re the one who took Justice,” Zevran breathed, and Anders was both impressed and horrified that he managed to guess so quickly. “When Kristoff’s body was found, everybody assumed Nathaniel had accepted the spirit. The seneschal even sent for a Spirit Healer to confirm that Justice hadn’t possessed him against his will.” 

Anders did remember a time when it seemed that Justice’s most trusted friend was Nathaniel. It certainly wasn’t Anders, who had never once taken anything the spirit said seriously and constantly dodged his questioning about his experiences in the Circle. It took having the Templars following him even into the Wardens to make him realize that there was no escape for any mages; their stories always ended badly, no matter where you hid or what you did. Anders had willingly made what the Chantry called “the greatest sacrifice” and he was still treated like a criminal. By Andraste, he even helped Tabris save Amaranthine when it was on the verge of being burned! What does a mage have to prove to be left in peace? 

“No,” Anders said tightly. “He’s right here.” Zevran stared hard at him for a moment, like he thought that if looked long enough, he could see through Anders’ body and find Justice underneath. Justice sent a flurry of sharp stabs of emotion into Anders’ brain, a desire to speak to Zevran but a fear that he would be appalled if he did. Zevran never understood the whole thing as well as Tabris did; though not a mage himself, Tabris connected with them on a level most didn’t even attempt. He sympathized with their oppression and expressed agreement with Anders about the cruelty of the Templars. He accepted Justice into their ranks without hesitation, never once doubting his virtue as a spirit. Zevran clearly trusted Tabris’ judgement, but it was one thing to tolerate the spirit, and another to like him. 

“Does he…speak to you?” Zevran ventured at last. It was a relatively benign question, and talking about Justice gave Anders an excuse not to talk about Tabris. 

“Not really. It’s not like there are two separate voices in my head, one mine, one his. Our thoughts are one.” 

Zevran contemplated this for a second. “So…I don’t need to perform an exorcism?” Anders laughed, though his anger bubbled back a bit at the implication there. Justice rankled. 

“He’s not a demon,” he answered, and hoped that explained everything. It didn’t, if Zevran’s still wary expression was anything to go by, but there was no more questions. 

They stood in silence for a bit, long enough that Hawke and the others must have finished looting and decided not to come looking for him. Hawke had noticed something between him and Zevran, Anders could tell, and he was grateful for him to allow his lover to wander off with another man who explicitly stated they had slept together before. 

It didn’t seem that Zevran had anything more to say, but Anders had a million things he wanted to get off his chest, and yet couldn’t pin down a single one. He thought about ending their encounter with a joke, a witty memory about their more intimate moments together, but he dismissed the idea with embarrassment. He might have only spent a few nights with Zevran, but he got to know the assassin as more than just a temporary fuck in their short time together. Anders always suspected that if fate had not separated them, Tabris would’ve invited him into his and Zevran’s relationship permanently. Maybe even allowed him to join him on this strange mission he was on. But Anders was still too wild back then, even after the Mother, too enamored with this new lifestyle of freedom and also too afraid of the nightmares that welcomed him to bed every night. He knew that he would’ve rejected joining Tabris back then, no matter how much he loved him. After spending a year in Kirkwall’s sewers, he often regretted not acknowledging his feelings for Tabris more, not attempting to love him in the way that he deserved. 

But now he had Hawke, and although he missed Tabris with a burning intensity that haunted him constantly, he didn’t think he was in love with the elf anymore. He still wished he could see him again, though, look into his wide blue eyes, smell the crisp fletching of his arrows, just one more time…

“How is he?” Anders asked, surprised by the shakiness of his voice. It was difficult to contend with his own feelings towards Tabris as well as Justices’ untamed, unorganized spasms of sorrow and regret. 

Zevran looked away, staring off into something that Anders couldn’t see. The wind lightly rustled his blond hair, his striking bronze profile reminding Anders just how carelessly handsome he was. The nomadic lifestyle hadn’t changed him as much as it did Anders. Anders wondered how Tabris looked, if he was just as ginger as he used to be, just as lithely muscular. It’d been almost seven years since he became a Warden; a significant chunk of the unfairly short life he would lead. Anders felt involuntary tears spring into his eyes at the thought of all this time wasted without Tabris, how seven years might seem like nothing to Hawke or Zevran, but represented the pitiless clock that was rapidly ticking down for every Warden. Anders imagined Tabris as a ghoul, his skin stained black with taint and his gorgeous sun-orange hair shedding in clumps of matted dirt and gore. 

Anders couldn’t swallow the sob that escaped him, and once it was out, there was no hiding it from Zevran. Anders covered his face with his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath, as Zevran slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. 

“Ah, piccolo uccello,” Zevran said softly, his lips moving gently against Anders’ hair. “Do not start, or you will get me going.” 

“Will you tell me what you’re doing? Please, I won’t say anything, I just…I need to know.” 

Zevran sighed, but there was an old sense of resignation there, an abject exhaustion that made him sound a hundred years old. 

“He’s searching for a cure for the Blight,” he replied, and Anders was not nearly as shocked as he thought he would be. Of course Tabris would get bored after saving all of Fereldan not only from the Archdemon, but from a civil war as well. He’d need a new dangerously fatal quest, a new adventure to embark on to save even more people. Anders selfishly hoped that Tabris would accomplish this goal in his own lifetime. Maybe he could finally tell Hawke that they really could spend forever together.

“That sounds just like him,” Anders chuckled thickly. 

“He looks good, amore,” Zevran said. “He killed a Guild Master in Antiva and wears his gold chain around his neck like he is the new Master.” Zevran squeezed Anders’ shoulder before letting him go. He could see Hawke approaching them over the hill, alone, thankfully, but looking a little concerned that the sexy assassin really hadn’t taken Anders behind the trees to fuck him but rather to kill him. Anders brushed imaginary sand from his robes and tried to collect himself. 

“The Champion looks at you with such adoration,” Zevran remarked mildly. “Tabris would be pleased to see that you have found yourself such a love.”

Anders smiled genuinely. “Pleased, or smug?” Zevran chuckled warmly, but said nothing more as Hawke came upon him. He gave Anders a once-over, as if looking for wounds, and then gave Zevran a suspicious look that was both grateful and threatening. 

“Everything alright, Anders?” Zevran smiled secretly at Anders, but politely stepped away from him. 

“Of course, Champion, I was just remembering how sweetly Anders blushed when I was recalling our great sensual escapades with each other.” Anders did blush at that, but he recognized a cover when he saw it, and he was eternally grateful for Zevran’s ability to easily deflect from a serious topic, and for using it now. Maybe one day he’d tell Hawke about Tabris, but today was not the day. 

“Yes, well.” Hawke grabbed Anders’ hand in a ridiculous display of jealously, and Anders was suddenly deliriously happy. He had found the hope that Tabris had always wished for him, the light at the end of the tunnel that pushed him to keep going even when he desperately wanted to give up. For a while, he thought that that hope might’ve been Tabris, but now he simply couldn’t imagine a life without Hawke by his side, and he knew that Zevran was right; Tabris would be happy for him no matter who he loved, and Anders himself was happy for Tabris. Even though they were apart, and might be apart for a long time to come, they were still so intimately connected, with a bond that Anders would never forget again. 

As they walked away, Zevran called to him. 

“Oh, Anders?” Anders turned to see Zevran giving him the most nakedly cheerful smile Anders had ever seen on him. “You remember Nathaniel’s sister, Delilah, back in Amaranthine?” 

“Yes…” 

“If you ever find yourself down south again, you should pay her a visit. She’s taken such good care of Ser Pounce-a-lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> amico - friend  
> amore - love  
> piccolo uccello - little bird, the nickname Zevran gave Anders at Vigil's Keep, according to me


End file.
